"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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Daniel didn't quite know how to describe, to himself, what Cris was saying. Dour. Fatalistic. He thought a corpse was just a goodbye and feed for the worms. Earth, clay and mud which would eventually bear witness to the prancing feet of the young. Shit. Daniel supposed he liked an image that was detailed like that. Daniel supposed he wanted to refute the idea that he had to feel anything more than the seconds that relentlessly passed him by. Tina Luz was in the past. Daniel had made his peace with that. He wasn't about to deny himself the thin, wispy, effervescent dreams and musings of his, on the continuance of his life. Hedonistic pleasures, love and drugs and sex. A death changed none of those things.

... That had been Tina's chair. The one Cris had just sat himself in. It was her chair because the leather crumpled like a knuckle closed over a blade, bony ridges exposed when Tina would take to the armrest to silently work beside him. Her chair. One of the sole furnishings in the room that wasn't bargain bin. At least, she'd made it seem that way. It had been a loyal chair for years now.

At some point recently he'd considered giving it away.

"Dude." Daniel's voice dripped away, like a dribble of smoke. "It's my family. I know Tina as well as you do and all. We're not doing her any favors by treating her death like it was the end of the world." He wasn't looking at Cris. Maybe he needed to look at Cris, maybe that was polite. But he wasn't looking. "Let her rest and all, you know? Shit, she and I were just, you know. Chilling out. Death is just a natural endpoint, for a life well spent."
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Sfumato · V6 Meanwhile...